Arch Extended Version
by DeansBabyBird
Summary: I write a drabble challenge each week and this weeks word was Arch. This is the extended version of that drabble. Please note it has an adult theme (sex) so please don't go there if that will offend.


**Arch - Extended Version  
**

I have him now.

I finally understand how to un-make him.

I know what will drive him to rage against my hold on him and gather his strength for another fatalistic attempt to halt the inevitable, and what will make him whimper.

I know where to touch him to deliver the sweet agony that makes him arch his spine so tightly and throw back his head so that his pale, vulnerable throat is mine for the taking.

I know this. All that will bring him to me.

And I feel my soul rejoice with the bitter beauty of it.

It starts as it always starts between us. Each episode following it's established path. The beginning is never gentle. Tenderness only ever follows near-violence for us. It is as if our collective desire makes us reckless with need and when we come together, finally find each other for a few, always too brief moments, it is inevitably aggressive, explosively and wonderful.

It has been two months this time. Two months of bloody, intractable, unending war and our wounds are many but they do not hold us back. We have learned how close pleasure is to pain and have found the dance that allows us to craft our fragile agony into undeniable ecstasy.

We are privileged this time in that we have a bed. It is old and rusty and will no doubt, squeak but it won't matter to us because it is better than last time's damp cave, or the flatbed of an old truck or up against a wall.

I allow him just enough time to close the door and then I am on him. He is already unstable on his feet, will not use the cane he really needs to force his shattered knee to move with even a semblance of his usual grace, so he goes down easily, hissing what may be a curse or a command.

I was right.

The bed squeaks, but we do not care.

I use my body to pin him to the lumpy mattress and he knows better than to waste his strength trying to escape me so he lies still understanding that this time, I lead. That for the next precious few moments, control will be mine.

I find his lips quickly and they are as brutally soft as i remember them. I press my mouth to his and a nowhere-near healed split breaks open with a small gush of warm, salty copper. I lick the crimson and his breath stutters against my skin as his lips part.

And I am in.

His tongue pushes against mine as I press forward and I am amazed that though he is filthy from days of battle and carnage, he still tastes vaguely of peppermint.

It makes me smile and he takes me off guard and goes to catch my lip in his teeth but I don't allow him. I touch my hand against his chest, using my unfair strength to restrain him. He does not like that and he growls so I take his chin in my fingers and force his eyes to mine.

"Remember the rules."

I chide and he stills instantly and behind the 'I'm pissed at you' I see need and lust and desire. I lean in close, my cheek brushing the stubble of his and to his credit, he hardly flinches.

"Today is about you."

I whisper to him and then I let my tongue trail along the firm cartilage of his ear and he writhes against me and he is heat and hardness where our flesh touches.

I reach the edge of his jaw and as I feather my lips to the rough skin there I drop my hand to his thigh and drag my nails roughly against the worn denim of his jeans. There is not enough pressure to tear the fabric, though he knows I could...and have...and he parts his legs, the injured one moving jerkily, gasps of pain trembling his jaw as he allows me ingress.

The contact is anything but subtle...there is never, never it seems time for subtlety between us, and I grind hard against him, drawing from him that noise that tells me his blood is coursing hot through his veins.

I rake my other hand through his hair, pulling his head back hard and closing my teeth onto the soft skin of his pale throat, nipping and biting as we find a rhythm.

It is savage enough so that it will mark him tomorrow. Bruise his tender flesh to my shape so that all will see that I own him.

Does he own me in return?

No.

No one can own me and he has come to understand that. It sits uncomfortably with him but he has learned to tolerate it. It is not the worse thing in his world and if he must have that distress in exchange for this wonder, then it can be born.

He moves to wrap his arms around me, forgetting that is not part of the game, and I scrape my claws against his scalp as I pull painfully at his hair.

"No."

I say softly and he withdraws his hands and returns to pliant beneath me.

I bite some more and his breath hitches and he manages only one word.

"Please..."

It's a whimper and I can do nothing but be kind and allow him release for I know how much he needs it and how badly he and I and we, want it.

I shift my hand to the fly of his jeans and, with shamefully practiced ease pop the fasteners.

My hand finds the familiar rhythm that I know will strip away every glamour and guise he uses to hold himself together in this world of death and destruction he bestrides and his breathes come as pants and gasps as he arches his back and thrusts.

I press my lips to his throat and pull his hair muttering the words that make the heat within him unbearable and he cries out, the pleasure coursing from him to crackle like static in the humid air.

And he is...un-made.

And it is beautiful.

ends


End file.
